


The Haunting of Tony Stark

by viennasunrise (kteaanne)



Series: The Haunting of Tony Stark (Series) [1]
Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Civil War (Marvel), Ghost!Steve, M/M, Steve Feels, Tony Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kteaanne/pseuds/viennasunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's timing had never been great but he deserved a <em>medal</em> for the night he finally jumped Tony in the workshop. They woke up the next morning to the devastation in Stamford. So much for new beginnings.</p>
<p>They both saw things so differently and Tony knew it was going to tear them apart from the inside out. He wanted to stop it but things got away from him; he couldn't control everything. One minute he was waking up with Steve's arm draped across his chest. The next he and Steve were leading opposing sides of what would be known as the Superhuman Civil War.</p>
<p>And at the end of it all, Tony watched in abject horror from his office in New York as his best friend--and one time lover--was shot and killed on national television.</p>
<p>It wasn't worth it. It wasn't supposed to be this way. How was he ever going to get through this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been beta'd by the wonderful Amonae! All remaining errors are my fault. :) 
> 
> Art has been added to chapter 2. Enjoy!

Everything was chaos. There were people running for cover, screaming at others to do the same, as several helicopters landed at the foot of the steps. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents of every size and shape were converging around him and he couldn’t get his bearings. It was a mess.

The sudden change in position didn’t help either. He thought he’d managed to get back on his feet despite the strength-dampening restraints they put him in but he didn’t remember moving that much after he’d heard, and then felt, the first gunshot. He rolled his shoulder, trying to asses the damage from the bullet, but realized simultaneously that both the bullet wound and restraints were missing. Steve peered around, confused, trying to understand how both of those things could have just vanished when he saw himself lying, bloodied, a few feet away. Well, his body was lying a few feet away.

The realization that he was dead knocked the figurative wind out of him. He had been so alive just a few minutes ago, prepared to face the consequences of his fight with Tony and now… Now he was some kind of ethereal being stuck staring at himself.

Sharon was curled protectively over his chest, tears streaking down her face as she tried to shake him awake, but Steve knew he wouldn’t move. He closed the few feet between them and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Sharon,” Steve tried to get her attention, “Sharon!”

She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he’d tried to talk to her in any way. She pushed her face into Steve’s shoulder and sobbed his name repeatedly.

He wanted desperately to tell her it was okay, but he couldn’t find the words to try and comfort her. He knew she couldn’t hear him. Ice seemed to solidify in the pit of his stomach. If he couldn’t communicate then what was the point of all this?

What was the point of any of this? The fight with Tony, the anti-registration movement… If he was just going to die in the end anyway why couldn’t S.H.I.E.L.D. have made it that much less painful and taken him out when he first refused? The only hope he had now was that the death of Captain America, not Steve Rogers but Captain America, would be enough of a catalyst to fix the mess he and Tony had made. If it did that, then it was a sacrifice Steve was willing to make.

Sharon kept her death grip on Steve’s shoulders despite several S.H.I.E.L.D. agents trying to prise her off of him. Her eyes were bloodshot and the tears fell thick and fast down her cheeks, pooling on Steve’s chest. She seemed like she could barely catch her breath and Steve suddenly felt completely helpless. He sat on the step next to her, hand resting in the middle of her back, and tried to get her to hear him.

“It’s okay, Sharon,” he heard himself say over and over again. “It’s okay.”

Sharon didn’t move away from his body, but her breathing eased up and she finally allowed another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to pull her away from Steve’s body. Maybe he was helping. It was too damn difficult to tell.

* * *

Tony watched in abject horror as Steve jerked forward from the initial shot. The camera swung around just in time to catch the final three shots go off and Steve fell to the ground, completely still.

Before he knew what he was doing he was out of his chair, around his desk, and out the office door. Several people tried to get his attention as he ran down the hall for the elevator but he was deaf to all of them. The only thing that mattered was Steve but he was too far away to do anything about it.

He half fell into elevator and anxiously tapped the lobby button repeatedly, as if hitting it more than once would get him there faster. Thirteen floors to go and his phone rang.

“Pep, I—” he choked out. “I—”

“Tony, breathe,” Pepper interrupted. “It’s okay, you need to breathe.”

He felt his knees give out, suddenly finding himself on the floor of the elevator.

“Steve...” he sobbed.

“I know, Tony. I saw. It’ll be okay. You don’t know anything yet. The cameras all cut out just as he hit the ground. You know he has an accelerated healing rate. He can still make it out of this.”

Tony wanted to believe her but he knew, he just _knew_ , that Steve was gone. It was all over. He hit the emergency stop button and the elevator jerked to a halt. He needed time to compose himself. If Steve was gone arrangements needed to be made and he was the only one left to take care of it. He needed to get to D.C. and quick.

"Pep, we can't—," Tony choked out, unable to catch his breath. 

"Breathe, Tony. In and out. Come on, breath with me," Pepper said calmly. 

Tony closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing with Pepper until his heart rate leveled out and the tightness in his chest loosened. 

'I have to get to D.C.," he said after a moment of silence. 

"I know, Tony. But you have to promise me you won't take the suit."

Not taking the suit meant getting to D.C. would take a lot longer than he was okay with but arguing with Pepper would waste time and besides, JARVIS would lock him out of the suit anyway. It was faster just to agree. 

"I promise," he whispered, amazed his body was still capable of making sound.

"I love you, Tony. It's going to be alright. Remember that no matter what happens. Call me when you get there."

"Love you too, Pep. Will do," he pocketed his phone and stood back up, bracing himself on the railing. He could do this. He had to do this. He took a few steadying breaths, smoothed his suit back into place, and resumed the elevator.

By the time he was out the front doors of Stark Tower, he had a plan formulated and a to-do list made. If this was it and he had to say goodbye to Steve, he was going to do it right.

* * *

Once Sharon had been pulled off his body, S.H.I.E.L.D. was able to send in a med-evac and Steve was officially pronounced dead at the scene. They loaded his body into the back of a black S.H.I.E.L.D. van and Steve hopped in, not really sure what else there was to do.

They moved his body back to the Triskelion where, Steve was surprised to see, Tony was waiting. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was splotchy, almost like he’d been crying. Given their most recent meeting Steve couldn’t understand why he looked so upset. They’d argued and Steve, in a fit of anger, had broken Tony’s jaw. Steve wasn’t sure Tony even considered them friends anymore. Sure, maybe things were headed in a new direction right before Stamford, but that had been weeks ago and the gulf between them had grown irreparably wide.

Tony followed Steve’s body into the exam room and watched as the medical team set his body on the cold, metal table. Tony signed a few forms and the agents hurried from the room, leaving them alone. Steve settled himself against the opposing wall, folding his arms over his chest as he studied Tony. It was clear he hadn’t been eating again; his face was waxy and gaunt. There were dark circles around his eyes and his hair was sticking up in odd ways Steve had only ever had the pleasure of seeing once. The sight made Steve’s chest feel tight.

Tony pulled a chair up to the table and sat down, head in his hands. He didn’t move for a minute or two, all Steve could hear was the uneven rhythm of his breathing. It sounded ragged, almost like he was silently crying.

And then he lifted his head, eyes bright with tears, to look at Steve’s face. He brushed a bit of hair off Steve’s forehead and started talking.

“I—” Tony choked out, “I need to tell you why all of this happened. Last time we…met…you asked me why. I knew what everything meant, Steve. I knew exactly who, with the exception of Peter, would fall on each side of the issue. I knew, _absolutely knew_ , what I was doing was right but that you would never see it that way. We _had_ to work with in the system. I told you we had to comply, that if we didn’t they would take away _everything_. But you didn’t listen and I wasn’t willing to make you. So I sucked it up and did it alone. I did what I knew you would do if you understood what I knew to be true. I committed. I gave it everything I had, Steve. I committed so damn hard I lost bits of myself along the way. I—” Tony broke off, as emotions Steve didn’t understand overwhelmed the other man and Steve could do nothing but look helplessly on.

Every nerve in Steve’s body, if you could call it that, was screaming for him to reach out and touch some part of Tony. The whole situation was terribly wrong and Steve needed to fix it; to fix Tony. But there wasn’t a single thing he could do. He had to sit there and watch helplessly as the man he loved broke apart five feet from him.

It took a minute, but Tony composed himself enough to start talking again.

“You’d be proud of me though. I never, _not once_ , through all of this had a drink. Not even when you broke my jaw. God help me if I didn’t want to… But I didn’t do it. I knew this meant we’d never be friends again, that we’d never even _speak_ again. I knew this would spoil whatever we started that night so many weeks ago, before Stamford happened and our lives got shot to hell. I knew, without a doubt, that you would hate me for this. And I did it anyway. I thought I was willing to go all the way, but—I can’t do this.”

Tony broke off again, a pained expression crossing his face before he reached out and brushed the back of his hand over Steve’s cheekbone.

“This is the one thing I can’t handle… The one thing I knew from the beginning I wouldn’t be able to live through. I didn’t think we were headed here but I always feared it. The worst has happened, Steve. I–I can’t do this without you.”

Steve had unconsciously crossed the room while Tony spoke, a strange mix of emotions battling in his chest. He wanted to both deck and kiss the man seated before him but knew that he couldn’t do either. Tony couldn’t see him there. It was all over.

Tony sobbed uncontrollably, mumbling something Steve couldn’t quite understand. He knelt down in front of Tony, resting his hands on the man’s knees, and leaned in, trying to hear it.

“It wasn’t worth it.” Tony sobbed over and over and over again.

Steve ached to wrap his arms around the man before him. The simple truth that Tony would feel nothing was enough to make Steve physically ill. He was there but Tony couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him. He was powerless to comfort his friend. All he could do was sit back and watch.

“It will be okay.” Steve repeated over and over again, willing Tony to hear him, but he showed no signs of having heard anything.

Eventually, just like Sharon, Tony’s sobs quieted. He drew in a deep breath and stood up, turning toward Steve's body one last time. He threaded his fingers through Steve’s blond locks and bent, placing a quick kiss to his forehead, before he turned from the room.

Steve hesitated for a second, trying to decide if following Tony was the right move. He glanced back at himself, at his body, lying motionless beside him and he suddenly needed to be anywhere else.

He followed Tony out of the room as he bolted down the hall for the elevator. He tapped the lobby button repeatedly and tried to brush his hair back in place with his fingers. He missed a tendril of hair at the back and Steve, with out thinking, made to smooth it down for him. Nothing happened and Steve’s heart dropped into his stomach. Being dead was going to be a whole hell of a lot more painful than fighting with Tony in life had ever been.

They ended up back on Tony’s jet bound for New York. He probably could have made the flight in the suit but Steve had done a number on it last time they met and he probably hadn’t finished the repair work yet.

Tony did a decent job of keeping himself together all the way back to the tower. He ripped off his tie in the elevator but was able to keep his voice even and soft when Pepper called him a few minutes after Happy deposited him in front of the building.

“President Ellis promised to sign the papers tomorrow so everything will be official… No, I think I should be the one to send in the request. Don’t get Stark Industries involved. We don’t need the the media hype. Just talk to the board and have them sign off on it. Washington’ll try to make a national symbol out of him even in death but I’ll see to it that S.H.I.E.L.D. intervenes. St—He wouldn’t want that… Yeah, love you too. Thanks, Pep.”

Tony scrubbed his face, drying the tears that had welled up during his talk with Pepper. He looked like a man on the edge and there wasn’t anything Steve could do about it. He made to punch the wall of the elevator but nothing happened again. He was going to have to find a new way to release his anger if punching things was off the table.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal the penthouse. Steve was shocked still for a second, he anticipated Tony would hide in the workshop for the foreseeable future, but quickly righted himself and followed Tony down the hall.

Tony haphazardly yanked off his tie, undid his shoes, and sauntered back to his bedroom. Steve followed and watched Tony sink onto the edge of his bed as the tension in his shoulders eased out of him and he dropped his head back in his hands. The soft sound of his sobs twisted Steve’s insides and he crossed the room, settling down on the bed next to Tony.

It was odd not to have the bed dip from his weight. Somewhat disorienting and in his distraction he missed what Tony whispered to the darkness. He turned his attention back to the other man and set a hand in between Tony’s shoulder blades, rubbing his thumb in circles.

“You’re not alone, Tony. I’m not going to leave you.”

Tony’s sobs stopped abruptly, his eyes darting around the room as if he heard something.

“Jarvis,” he asked hesitantly, “is there someone else in the penthouse?”

“You appear to be the only quantifiable life source, sir.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Steve asked, suddenly curious if Jarvis had some way of detecting him.

Tony ignored the strange wording, but inclined his head toward Steve.

Perhaps a little too hopeful, Steve tried talking to him again.

“Tony, I’m here. I’m not going to leave you. Can you hear me? Please tell me you can hear me!”

Tony squinted in Steve’s direction but didn’t say anything. He dropped his head down again, rubbing the back of his neck fiercely. He stood up, shucked the remainder of his suit off, and dropped back down on the bed, sliding under the covers and jamming his eyes shut.

Steve wasn’t sure if Tony was hoping he could force himself to sleep and forget about the events of the day or not, but he fit himself down on the bed next to Tony, hand splayed over the other man’s chest, hoping that, even if Tony couldn’t hear him, that somehow Steve’s presence was a good thing.


	2. Chapter 2

In the few miraculous moments between sleep and being fully awake, Tony forgot. He could feel Steve’s warm hand on the small of his back, could hear his rhythmic breathing off to his side. His heart swelled, knowing that Steve was there with him. He opened his eyes, intent on kissing the man lying next to him, but found no one there. His bed was empty, except for him, and the sensation that Steve was there vanished as the cold reality of his life reasserted itself. Steve was gone and he had a funeral to plan.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stymie the oncoming panic attack. He felt the tears leak from his eyes as he buried his face in his pillow—struggling to concentrate on his breathing—but it didn’t help.

He rolled onto his side, pulling his knees up to his chest, and let the renewed wave of grief overcome him. He felt weak, like he was somehow less of a man because he couldn’t accept Steve’s death.

And then the sensation returned.

His back suddenly felt warm, almost like there was someone there, holding him, and he could feel someone's breath on his neck. He shut his eyes tight, willing the sensation to leave him. He didn’t need to lose his mind too. And then he heard it.

“Tony, breathe, it’s okay,” Steve’s voice said.

He stopped, his breath caught in his throat, and he suddenly knew he had lost it. It wasn’t possible to hear Steve again. He was gone, his body back in D.C.

But he remembered the sensation from the night before, the mumbled voice he had asked Jarvis about, unsure that he was alone in the penthouse. And what was it that Jarvis had said before?

_“You appear to be the only quantifiable life force, sir.”_

What did Jarvis mean by “quantifiable”?

“J,” Tony croaked out, “tell me what you meant by ‘quantifiable life force’ last night.”

“While I could not find evidence of another living person, I was able to identify an electrical signature in your bedroom that I have not seen before, sir.”

“Meaning what?” Tony asked, sitting himself up.

“An electrical signature somewhat similar the human heartbeat, sir.”

Tony spun around, looking over his bedroom with a renewed fervor he hadn’t felt in days.

“Well what the hell does that mean? Can you detect it right now?”

“I can, sir.”

“Where?”

“Directly to your left, sir.”

* * *

Steve had followed Tony as he’d sat up, one arm curled around his shoulders, and watched as Tony realised what this might mean. It took less than a second before Tony was off the bed jamming his legs into the nearest pair of pants he could find, and tore from the room.

Steve watched from the bed as Tony disappeared from the doorway. He had a guess where the other man was headed but wasn’t sure he wanted to follow; too many memories.

Eventually curiosity got the better of him and he made his way down to the workshop.

The last time he’d been down there with Tony, everything felt right in the whole world. It was painful to think about, knowing that they lost any chance at a relationship before it could get off the ground.

_They’d just gotten back from a mission upstate; AIM had been working on a new version of the Doombot and Hill had dispatched the team to take care of it. Tony had, once again, ignored Steve’s instructions and gotten himself knocked around by one of the errant Doombots._

_As soon as the quinjet docked at the tower, Tony disappeared to the workshop and, feeling murderous, Steve followed._

_By the time he got down there, Tony had removed the armor and was elbow deep in repairing one of the gauntlets. Steve could see him bent over a workbench, back to the door, fiddling with the joints. He punched in his code and stormed into the room, ready to let Tony have it._

_“What the hell was that?” He yelled across the room._

_Tony’s head drooped for a fraction of a second before he was off his stool, glaring at Steve._

_“That was me doing my job. If you don’t like it, don’t ask me to come,” Tony spat._

_Steve crossed the room over to Tony, backing him up against the wall by the workbench. “You can’t do your job if you’re dead!” Steve yelled back. “Why is it that every time the jet lands you run off like you’re there on your own? We’re a fucking team, Tony. What the hell!?”_

_For a second he thought Tony was going to throw the gauntlet at him and then, much to Steve’s surprise, he started to laugh._

_“Did you just…” Tony said trying to sober up, “Did you really just call us a ‘fucking team’?”_

_“I… We_ are _a team, Tony. What’s gotten into you.”_

_“Captain America—in all his righteous anger—just came down here and told me we’re a ‘fucking team’. I—Who even taught you that word, Cap!” Tony laughed._

_Steve scowled back. “I served in the goddamn army, why is everyone so surprised when I swear?”_

_“Language, Cap.” Tony teased, a lopsided grin crossing his face._

_Steve slammed his hand against the wall by Tony’s head, jarring Tony out of his reverie. It was hard to be angry with the man when all he wanted to do was kiss him, but Tony kept putting himself in danger and if Steve had to watch him almost die one more time…_

_Seeming to sense the shift in mood, Tony set down the gauntlet in his hand back onto the workbench and turned his full attention to Steve. They locked eyes, an emotion swirling under the surface that Steve couldn’t read._

_“Look,” he started, “I—I can’t keep watching you almost die. It’s the most frustrating thing in the universe and it’s going to make my head explode one of these days.”_

_“Which head, Steven?” Tony joked._

_“Not funny,” he grumbled. What was it about Tony that could have him ready to throttle the man one minute and aching to shove him up against the nearest wall the next? He’d been exercising an insane amount of self control the last few months and pretty soon he was going to fracture under the pressure. Either way he was going to kill Tony or he was going to drag him to bed and at this point he wasn’t sure which option sounded more appealing._

_“Yeah, well, I’m not your type anyway so,” Tony said, trying to duck under Steve’s arm._

_Deciding there was no time like the present, Steve growled and pushed Tony back against the wall. He tried to catch his breath, suddenly his lungs wouldn’t hold enough air, before leaning in and kissing Tony square on the mouth._

_Tony went stiff against the wall as the alarm bells started going off in Steve’s head. What if Tony wasn’t as interested as he’d thought… What if this was the end of the friendship they’d been working so hard to build over the last few years… What if he just fucked it all up because he’d been frightened by Tony’s mortality?_

_He pulled away, regret and shame oozing from him, when Tony whimpered and pulled them back together, lips crushing Steve’s on just the right side of too hard._

_Steve pulled Tony flush against him and nipped at Tony’s bottom lip, trying to deepen the kiss. Tony responded with a kind of enthusiasm Steve hadn’t expected. He ran his fingers through Tony’s hair, down his back, under his ass. Tony rolled his hips against Steve and the friction drove all rational thought from Steve’s mind. All there was in the world was Tony._

_Tony pulled away just far enough to look up at Steve, pupils blown wide._

_“J,” he said, not breaking eye contact with Steve, “lock the workshop down.”_

_The lights dimmed as Steve leaned back down, catching Tony’s lips again. He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in Tony’s mouth, his tongue, the way his hips rolled against his erection. Without thinking he lifted Tony up—the other man wrapped his legs around his waist—and carried him over to the couch._

_They fell, Steve on top of Tony, when his shins hit the couch. Walking blind the the semi-darkness probably wasn’t the best idea, but the distraction was only temporary. Tony managed to catch them before they toppled over the back, laughing._

_Steve drew a blank for a minute and Tony took control, looping his fingers in Steve’s belt and pulling him down against him. He palmed Steve through the thin material of the Captain America suit and Steve moaned into Tony’s mouth._

_“How many pieces does this stupid costume have?” Tony quipped. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to unbuckle the belt._

_“Too damn many,” Steve replied, running his hands up under Tony’s shirt. He ground down against Tony’s hips, eliciting something between and growl and a moan that he absolutely wanted to hear every day for the_ rest _of his life._

_Tony managed to unhook Steve’s belt, undoing the rest of the clasps with ease, and shoved his pants down to his knees. Needing nothing between them, Steve sat up and ripped off the top of the costume, kicking the pants onto the floor._

_He tugged at the waistband of Tony’s jeans and Tony responded eagerly, lifting his hips to help. Steve pitched the jeans unceremoniously across the room as Tony peeled off his shirt and Steve froze again._

_He lost any sense of time; all Steve knew was the pounding of his pulse in his ear, the feel of Tony’s breath on him as they fell over the edge together._

_After, Tony fell asleep on his chest as Steve brushed his fingers through his hair. A warmth had bloomed in his chest, the anticipation of something new and wonderful settling there. He and Tony had time—maybe all the time in the world—to figure this thing out between them._

* * *

Steve shook himself back to the present, watching Tony from just inside the doorway of the workshop. The memory faded as quickly as it came. Whatever potential he and Tony had had been ripped away just days later.

A weight settled in his chest; the loss he felt was unbearable.

“Jarvis,” the sound of Tony’s voice drifted from the other side of the room, “show me that reading again.”

Steve crossed the room, settling himself down on a stool next to Tony just as Jarvis threw up a map of the readings he’d detected the night before beside the reading from Tony’s bedroom a few minutes ago.

“Where is it now? Has it moved?”

“It has, sir. The reading appears to be to your right.”

“Show me,” Tony said, looking past Steve.

Jarvis projected a reading of the workshop Steve couldn’t make heads or tails of with the exception of the yellow tag hovering over where he was sitting. He stood up, walked across the workshop, and stared back at the screen to see the tag follow his path. Maybe there was hope yet.

Tony’d turned his attention back to the screen, his eyes tracking Steve’s path through the room. He squinted up at it, almost like he was unsure what to make of it all.

“When did you first detect this, J?”

“It appears to have followed you home, sir.”

“What the hell, J. After all this magic shit with Strange and you _don’t_ say anything? We talked about this!”

“My apologies, sir. I did not feel that you were in the right frame of mind for such things.”

Tony glared up at the ceiling like he was about to blow a gasket when his phone rang. He glanced down at the screen, his brow furrowing.

“J, patch the call through the workshop speakers,” Tony said weakly, rubbing the sides of his head as if he had a headache.

“What do you want, Hill? I’m busy,” he said as the call connected.

“Whatever you’re busy with can wait, Stark. The UN’s finally elected a new head of S.H.I.E.L.D. and we need you up at the helicarrier.”

“Whoever it is can fuck off. My best friend died yesterday. I’m not coming.”

“They’ve elected you, Stark.”

Tony slumped down on a stool and dropped his head back into his hands. His shoulders shuddered, Steve was fairly sure from a renewed wave of sobs, as Hill waited for a response.

Steve walked over, kneeling at Tony’s feet, and cupped his head in his hands.

“Tony,” he said, willing the other man to hear him, “shush, it’s okay. You have to hear me, it’s okay. Please…”

Steve rested his forehead against Tony’s and rubbed his thumbs along Tony’s cheekbones, wishing desperately that he could comfort him properly.

Tony caught his breath again, turned back toward the map Jarvis still had projected in front of him and studied it for a moment. He turned back to where Steve was kneeling in front of him, lifted a hand to his cheek, directly over where Steve’s hand was, and sighed.

“Steve?” He whispered.

“Tony,” Steve choked out, squeezing his eyes shut, ”I’m here.”

“Stark,” Hill’s voice filled the workshop again, sharp and impatient. Tony jumped, almost like he’d forgotten Hill was waiting for a response.

“I’m not coming, tell the UN they can go fuck themselves. I’m done with this; I’m done with all of this. I have a funeral to plan. J,” Tony said, turning away from Steve, “disconnect the call.”

Tony ghosted his fingers over the path Steve had made through the workshop just a few moments ago. He furrowed his brow in confusion as Steve stood up, leaning against the wall to his left.

“J, lock down the workshop. We have to figure out what this is because I’ve either lost it, or Steve’s decided he has nothing better to do than to haunt me.”


	3. Chapter 3

“The workshop has been secured, sir.” 

Tony leaned over the workstation he’d been at before Hill called, violently typing in calculations and trying to figure out what exactly— _the hell_ —was going on. 

“J, lay out the readings again, but this time include everything you have from the second I came home last night.” Tony said, inwardly cursing himself for hoping. Steve was dead and ghosts didn’t exist. If he was being honest with himself, this was just a really good excuse to put off planning the—

“I missed this,” Steve’s voice said. 

Tony’s whole body tensed up. He was seriously losing it this time. It was one thing to hear Steve’s voice while waking up, it was a completely different thing to hear his voice while fully conscious and attempting to prove that Steve was haunting him. Tony turned, not completely consciously, toward the voice and fell off his stool. 

Steve—who should be dead—was standing to his left, leaning against a wall ( _the_ wall, his brain supplied helpfully). He wasn’t dressed in the Captain America suit—the clothes he’d died in—but in a simple white t-shirt and his favorite tan colored sweatpants. Tony’s heart damn near exploded out of his chest. 

Steve’s expression changed as he watched Tony. He shifted away from the wall, extending out a hand as if to help Tony back up but seemed to think better of it at the last second. 

Tony stood up and brushed himself off, unable to look away from Steve. Tears welled up in his eyes—threatening to spill over—as his eyes locked with Steve’s. His brain finally caught up with his senses and he had to choke back a yelp. This was impossible; Steve was dead. He’d seen his body lying lifeless back at S.H.I.E.L.D. with his own eyes. 

“St—” Tony started, unable to form a coherent thought, “Steve?”

“You can see me?” Steve asked, his expression looking exactly like Tony felt—confused.

“Nope, no, this is not happening,” Tony said, scrubbing at his face. “I’ve officially lost it. You’re dead, not standing in the workshop.”

“Actually,” Steve said, “I am both of those things.”

“Both of what things?” Tony asked, unable to help himself. 

“Both dead and standing in the workshop,” Steve smiled at him sadly. 

The tears from earlier fell down Tony’s cheek as he surveyed Steve. There was nothing about his appearance that would lead someone to believe he’d died a violent death just yesterday. He was exactly as Tony remember him, whole and untarnished. 

“Hey,” Steve said, crossing the distance between them. He rested a hand on Tony’s cheek and looked down at him, “it’s okay.”

Tony could feel the warmth from Steve’s hand on his cheek and reached up to hold it in place, but felt nothing. 

“Why can’t I touch you?” Tony whined. He felt like a petulant child close to throwing a temper tantrum.

“No idea,” Steve replied and dropped his head down to rest on Tony’s forehead.

“Why can—“ Tony started, but Steve interrupted him. 

“Are we going to play twenty questions or can you just savor the moment for five seconds.” 

“Sorry…” Tony sighed. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend Steve was really there. 

They’d spent what was easily the best night of Tony’s life together in this room. Steve had slammed him up against that wall and done the one thing Tony never thought he’d have the courage to do himself. He’d been in love with the bastard for years but had always been too afraid to say anything. Steve was supposed to the product of a different generation—someone who should have been repulsed by the scenarios Tony’d been playing out in his mind for years. 

But Steve surprised him. He didn’t realize until the moment Steve kissed him that Steve felt the same way but Tony was too shocked to do anything about it before Steve had second thoughts and pulled away. He had made what was possibly the most embarrassing noise of all time and pulled Steve back to him, completely at a loss for why he’d been so lucky. He’d felt like everything in the world was finally right after that night. But waking up the next morning with Steve curled around him was a cruel joke the universe had played on both of them. They finally got everything right, just for the world to crash down around them. 

Some idiot D-list superhero group managed to get themselves and a significant portion of Stamford, Connecticut blown up and whatever future Steve and Tony had had was ripped away from them before they could realize what they were losing. The resulting war between the split sides of the superhero community fractured their friendship and left them, one fateful night, in the ruins of the Avengers Mansion where Steve had finally lost it and broke Tony’s jaw. 

In no way had he blamed Steve for his reaction. In hindsight, many of the things Tony’d done in the name of the SHRA were things he should never be forgiven for. Not only had he and Reed tried to implement Project 42 on a wide scale, but he’d actually thought that the superhero community would be safer if the public knew their identities—and Peter had paid the price for his arrogance. 

That Steve would seek him out in death was incomprehensible to Tony, but the fact remained that Steve was there, almost holding him. It wasn’t right—Tony didn’t deserve the comfort.

“Why,” he whispered after a few minutes, “why are you here?”

Steve hesitated, pulling away to look Tony in the eye, “Because you need me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I saw you, back at S.H.I.E.L.D. I heard everything you said and I couldn’t just let you walk out of there alone. I—“ Steve cut off, looking pained. “I still care for you, Tony. I needed you to know that—that I didn’t die hating you. I’ve never hated you.”

“You have every right to,” Tony pointed out helpfully. “I’ve given you plenty of reasons to hate me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“I never said I forgave you. I was angry and didn’t understand how you could believe the SHRA was ever a good idea, but I never blamed you for it. I’ve known you for a long time, Tony, and never once have I seen you make a snap judgement. Sometimes it looks that way, but you’ve always thought it through, even if I don’t agree with your conclusion.”

“Well you should blame me. This whole mess is my fault. Peter’s lost everything and it’s ultimately my fault that Hank agreed to make the Thor clone in the first place—which makes it my fault that Bill’s dead.”

“Tony. Stop,” Steve placed his hands on either side of Tony’s face. “Blaming yourself won’t change what happened. You have to let it go. You did the best you could.”

Tony scoffed. “I’m not so sure about that, Cap.”

“Well I am.” 

He didn’t deserve to hear these things. He couldn’t forgive himself for all the damage he had caused; all the pain he’d inflicted on those people he once thought of as family. 

“I _miss_ you,” Steve sighed after a while. He dropped his hands and jerked back, eyeing Tony as he went.

“I’m right here,” Tony said, longing to feel Steve’s warm hands on his face again. He needed him here more than he was willing to admit and if Steve left now… 

Steve dropped his head, shoulders curling in on themselves. He looked like he was crying. 

“It’s not the same,” he breathed, barely more than a whisper. 

Something inside Tony broke at Steve’s confession. He thought he’d hit his low yesterday but the universe obviously had it out for him; this was a terrible new kind of agony. 

He watched as the man he loved broke apart feet from him and could do nothing. Steve sobbed quietly, leaning against the wall with his head in his hands, and Tony couldn’t touch him. It was a cruel joke to play; a cruel reminder of all he had lost. 

“Steve,” he finally managed, “please… Look at me.” 

Steve lifted his bloodshot eyes back up as Tony moved toward him. He stopped just inches from Steve’s chest and could feel the warmth radiating off him. 

“Whatever cruel joke this is that the universe is playing on us, we can make the best of it. I can’t touch you, but I _can_ feel you. Even if you hadn’t died things would never have been the same again. We should just take what we’ve got and run with it. I—” Tony dropped his gaze, suddenly feeling very self conscious. He knew what he wanted to say but he’d never had the courage to tell Steve in life… Why should he do it now when it was sure to only cause more pain? But Tony was selfish and he needed Steve to know. He steeled himself and stared back up at Steve. “I have loved you for years, I still love you now, and even though I could wake up tomorrow and this is all just a dream, I’ll take what I can get.”

Steve closed the few inches between them, wrapping his arms around Tony in a warm embrace he couldn’t truly feel. It was odd to know that Steve was there, holding him, but all he could feel was his warmth. 

“Tony,” Steve breathed into his hair, “I love you, too.”  
—  
They stayed in the workshop for a few hours, catching up on what had happened in the weeks following Stamford. WIth the exception of a few, terribly unpleasant memories, they hadn’t seen each other in over three months.

Tony talked about the projects he’d been working on with Reed Richards that led to Project 42, how things with Hank had been since the disastrous death of Bill Foster, how Hawkeye had adapted after defecting from Steve’s group… It was all very surreal to finally hear how things had been for the other side and oddly comforting to know that Tony hadn’t been running around completely at peace with the situation; he’d been in pain too.

Steve, for his part, didn’t have much to tell Tony that he didn’t already know. Right up until the end, Tigra had been spying on the anti-group for Tony and her intel was surprisingly detailed. 

Eventually they ran out of things to talk about and, sprawled out on the couch, an uncomfortable silence fell over them. 

There was one question Steve had stayed away from, trying to avoid painful topics as much as possible, but he finally gave in and asked. 

“What do you think would have happened,” he said, jarring Tony out of a trance, “if we’d had more time before Stamford?”

Despite the vague phrasing of the question, he was sure Tony knew exactly what he meant.

“I asked myself that every day,” Tony said after a while, suddenly looking exhausted. “I’d like to think we could have stopped it. Maybe not the New Warriors, but everything else. Maybe with both of us as a united front we could have changed the rhetoric…” 

Steve knew he was right. He’d come to the same conclusion the night Bill Foster died. Together they were an immovable force; apart they were easily manipulated. He’d wished, at the time, that their night in the workshop had never happened, that he’d had the self control to hold out one more day; it would have made the last three months of his life so much less painful. 

“Do you think it would have been easier if we’d never…ya know?” Steve asked, gesturing to the couch. 

“What, fucked? Hell no,” Tony responded. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Steve. It would have been painful either way. At least this way we have one night that doesn’t count as a total waste.”

Steve laughed, despite himself. What Tony said wasn’t really funny, it was just terrifyingly true. At least they had that night, those few perfect hours, when the world didn’t matter and it was just the two of them. They’d never have it again, he was sure of that, but they did at least still have each other. Even if one of them was doomed to stay a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm working on chapter 4, I promise... I'm having ALL the kinds of writers block because STEVE AND TONY DESERVE TO BE HAPPY DAMMIT and they won't be in chapter 4. But it's coming, I promise!


	4. Chapter 4

Steve’s laugh was jarring. Here he was, sitting literally feet away from Tony, and it all still felt distant. Earlier, when Steve had wrapped his arms around his shoulders, he’d hoped he’d be able to feel the actual weight of him, but all he felt was some kind of residual heat. He didn’t have an explanation for it—he wasn’t sure he wanted one—and it was starting to irritate the hell out of him.

He meant it, earlier, when he said he’d take what the universe would give him. And he _was_ happy—in a way. The two of them hadn’t been together like this in months and, while oddly comforting, Tony couldn’t help wishing for more.

The night Steve jumped him in the workshop should have been a new beginning for both of them. They should have had time to adjust their relationship from friends (if you could really ever call them just that) to lovers—maybe even partners if Tony’d had his way. They should have had time to sneak around before telling the rest of the team, they should have had months of unbelieveable new-relationship sex, they should have had time to grow together so that when Tony said “I love you” it would have meant something—not just caused pain.

But there was no point in dwelling on “should have” and “if only”. Tony was a futurist, he prided himself on that, and refused to live in the past. What happened to them couldn’t be changed and he needed to accept that. He had to move forward, there was no other direction.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing really,” Steve instantly sobered up, “it’s just horrifying how accurate that is, even if I hate it.”

“Yeah well, the universe isn’t a wish granting factory, Steve. We just get to make the best of the shittiest situation in the history of the human race.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

Tony closed the few feet between them and curled up on his side. Without hesitation Steve bent himself around his back, an arm draped over Tony’s side.

“Like this,” Tony smiled.

* * *

“Tony?” Steve chanced a while later, “we need to talk about the funeral.”

After hours sitting, and then semi-cuddling, in the workshop Tony had finally agreed to go upstairs to bed. Steve was wrapped protectively behind him, his forehead resting on Tony’s neck.

“Wha’ funeral?” Tony slurred, halfway asleep.

“Mine.” Steve winced.

Tony sat up, spinning around to face Steve. He looked livid.

“What would possess you to want to talk about that?” Tony spat.

“Tony.” Steve sat up and set a hand on Tony’s knee. He jerked away from Steve’s touch and locked eyes with him. There was a pain there Steve could understand but Tony was trying hard to mask it with anger.

“Don’t,” Tony said, pulling farther away, “don’t fucking act like everything’s fine.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Steve reached out again and grabbed Tony’s wrist, “and I don’t think it’s going to be. But we have to talk about this.”

“Look,” Tony said, deflating a bit, “I told Hill that to get her off the phone. I’m not the right person to plan it anyway.”

“You’re the only person to plan it,” Steve pointed out.

“Damn it, Steve. No, I’m not. No one outside this room has any idea that we slept together much less that you’re—sort of—here now. As far as they all know we hate each other. They’re probably all expecting some kind of victory speech. I’m not getting involved. End of discussion.”

“No,” Steve nearly growled, “not end of discussion, Tony. Look at me.”

Tony turned on him, his expression murderous. “Yes, end of discussion. I’m not talking about this anymore. But what does it matter, Steve. You never listen to me when I tell you to back off.”

What was left of Steve’s patience evaporated on the spot. “You’ve never _given_ me a good reason to! You run around acting like you know best and everyone should just cower to your superior intellect. It’s the same thing I yelled at you for after the AIM raid. You always assume you’re an acceptable sacrifice and you’re not!”

“I am _always_ an acceptable sacrifice, especially if it meant we didn’t lose _you_. Look where that got us! You paid the price for my fuck ups and now…there’s no going back, Steve. There’s no way to fix this. I’m the common denominator. I shouldn’t be involved.”

“Tony!” Steve yelled, “listen to me for _once_ in your life. You are the _only_ one who can fix this. Leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. in Hill’s hands is a mistake, a colossal one. Maybe Hank can handle the training facilities and maybe the initiative can survive congressional interference, but if you think for one second that leaving the Thunderbolts in _Hill’s_ control is an acceptable risk, you’re not the man I thought you were.”

“The only time I was ever that man was when you were around. I can’t be him without _you_ , Steve. I am _not_ capable of it. There’s nothing inside of me that makes me want to play the hero, to make the lasting sacrifice… I am _not_ you and you can’t keep expecting me to be. Fury made it pretty damn clear when he put the team together that he wanted Iron Man, not Tony Stark. I’ve always known where I stand here, Steve. Don’t try to make me out to be more than I am.”

Steve felt something inside him break. He’d always known Tony was hard on himself—that he didn’t understand his own worth—but hearing it hurt. Why was Tony always so convinced that he didn’t matter, that the team—the world—was better off without him? He’d been trying to get Tony to understand this for years and if he couldn’t manage it when he was alive and could force Tony to hear him, did he even stand a chance now?

“Tony, listen to me,” Steve pushed himself farther into Tony’s space, “you’re wrong. Fury’s an ass and he shouldn’t have ever said that. Tony Stark _is_ Iron Man. You can’t have one without the other. All the good he does, all the lives he’s saved, all the selfless things he’s accomplished, that’s all you, Tony. You’re the smartest person I know, why can’t you understand that?”

“None of that matters anymore, Steve. You’re dead. There, I said it. You’re dead and you’re not coming back and it’s my fault. Killing you negates anything good I’ve ever done. Happy?”

“No,” Steve said thickly. He felt his eyes prick and tried to swallow back the tears. “I’m not. I should be here with you, fixing this. We both made mistakes. We’re both responsible for Bill’s death. We both beat the shit out of each other. I never listened to you, never took a minute to think about what you were saying. In the end you were right, sort of. We shouldn’t have been complacent with how things were. We had a responsibility to keep everyone else safe and _we_ failed. Don’t put this all on you, Tony.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I could have tried harder to make you listen. I know how stubborn you are. I should have just taken a leaf out of your book and slammed you up against a wall that night we met at the mansion before you had the chance to break my jaw. There are a thousand things I should have done, Steve. But we don’t have time travel, unless Reed’s holding out on me, and I can’t keep looking at the past. I need to move forward.”

“Then we have to bury my body,” Steve whispered.

Tony dropped his head, “I know we do. I just don’t know how.”

“The way we should have been doing this all along,” Steve said, wrapping his arms around Tony, “together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short update... I know it's been over a week since the last one but their fight was not my favorite thing to write and talking about burying Steve just sucks. Also... This is probably going to be a few more chapters than originally planned.


	5. Chapter 5

Maria Hill, it turned out, was less patient than Tony’d anticipated. He knew when he hung up on her that the whole “you’re the new head of S.H.I.E.L.D.” business was far from over but he figured he had had more time to come up with a better excuse than “fuck you”. So when Hill and four faceless S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stormed into his workshop less than a day later he was out of excuses and had nowhere to run.

They forced him, none-too-gently, onto a quinjet and deposited him on the deck of the helicarrier where several representatives from both the U.N. and the W.S.C. were waiting for him. The swearing in ceremony lasted forever-and-a-goddamn-day before Tony was finally free to flee back to the tower and be with Steve.

He couldn’t shake the feeling, on the ride back to the tower, that this was the start of something terrible. His tenure as the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. would be his ruin. He wasn’t sure why or how he would manage it, but he knew this was it. Whatever came after this would be his penance for Steve’s death.

* * *

“You’re sure you’re okay with this plan?” Tony asked, shifting nervously in his seat.

He’d been sworn in as director for all of six hours and already Steve could tell he wasn’t adjusting well. The stress of it was getting to him and Steve was starting to worry the funeral was going to be too much—even if he would be there to literally hold Tony’s hand through it.

“We both know I was never just Captain America, Tony. Please?” Steve shifted his hand to Tony’s shoulder in an attempt to keep both their nerves in check.

“If it’s what you want then it’s what we’ll do. But I can’t promise anyone will bother to hear me out. Can’t I just have Jarvis alert them all?“

“Whatever works. I don’t care if they can’t put away their differences for a few hours to say goodbye but I want them to have the chance,” Steve said. Maybe putting this on Tony was unfair but it wasn’t like he could send the invitations out himself. Jarvis would have to do. “And Tony?” he added.

“Yeah?” Tony lifted his head to meet Steve’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Steve said cupping Tony’s face in his hands. He leaned his forehead on Tony’s and closed his eyes, willing this to be enough for now. It wasn’t—but he would keep lying to himself until it seemed like it. After a while Tony’s nerves calmed and the tension in his shoulders bled out. Steve knew they had more to discuss, so many small details to iron out, but Tony needed a minute away from the weight of all this and he wasn’t about to shatter this small window of reprieve.

* * *

Eventually Steve and Tony had talked about every detail of the funeral—from who would be asked to participate as pallbearers to who would speak. Tony and Sam seemed the logical choices to eulogize the late, great Captain America. Tony’d been his first and closest friend in this century and Sam his most recent; perfect bookends for the last decade or so of his life. Tony had tried to convince Steve that Sam’s remarks would be enough but they both knew the newly appointed director of S.H.I.E.L.D. would be expected to speak and it was widely know that Tony and Steve had been close friends before their latest fallout.

The newly erected statue of Captain America—shield in one hand, American flag in the other—loomed obscenely over his burial site. Thousands of supposed mourners showed up to pay their respects to the Captain and, in the rain, they all seemed perfectly miserable for attending. Whether that was genuine grief at the loss of an American icon or for having to play at remorse in the rain, Steve couldn’t be sure. Maybe it should have been touching, to know that—when it came down to it—people still cared; it just made him sick to his stomach.

It all felt like a stage production. No one in attendance was there to mourn the death of Steven Rogers. These people were here to save face; to prove they weren’t to be held accountable for the loss of America’s fallen son. The Captain had, _of course_ , died a hero. Nevermind the chains or the monkey suit they’d forced him into for his arraignment. Steve tried, really tried, not to be bitter about the whole thing. More than half of the people gathered together in the rain would have happily arrested him two weeks ago and yet here they were, soaked and shivering, ready to show “true” remorse for his downfall. But this funeral wasn’t for him, this was for America’s golden child, the great Captain America, and he wasn’t here to see his friends say their goodbyes or hear the stale apologies of people in power. He was here for Tony; to make sure Tony survived this hateful day.

Which ended up being more difficult than Steve had anticipated. Tony seemed to be fine while carrying the empty casket to the foot of the stage, didn’t seem too upset when he settled down next to Steve on the stand, and seemed like he was prepared to give one hell of a speech just before he began his eulogy. Steve followed him to the podium, one arm wound tightly around Tony’s waist, and smiled encouragingly at him. All at once Tony seemed to panic and fear flooded his face. His gaze jumped from Steve’s face to the statue looming over them to the crowd of mourners seated in front of him and he went white. He shifted in Steve’s arm and mumbled something to himself before spitting out the apology, “it wasn’t supposed to be this way,” and fleeing the scene.

Steve froze, unsure of what to do. Sam, in the confusion, made his way to the podium and picked up where Tony left off, starting in on what was sure to be a wonderful speech about Steve’s life and all the many things he had sacrificed for his country, but Steve would never hear it. He ran after Tony, finding him hyperventilating under a tree a few hundred yards behind the stage.

He walked up behind Tony, resting his hands on either side of his waist, and rested his chin on Tony’s shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked.

Tony’s shoulders shook and Steve felt his heart sink. Today was always going to be hard and it killed him that he couldn’t do more to make this easier on Tony. He was about to try and comfort him when Tony drew in a shaky breath and it suddenly occurred to Steve that he wasn’t crying—Tony was laughing.

“Um,” Steve said, suddenly at a loss for words, “Tony?”

“Sorry,” Tony laughed, “but this whole thing is ridiculous.You and me, we finally had our chance and,” he laughed again, “then Samford happened and you left the tower and we didn’t talk for months and months and,” Tony sucked in another breath, “then everything happened at that chemical plant and Sue left Reed and you turned yourself in and,” he laughed again, “you died and now there’s that stupid statue of you holding the shield in the wrong hand and all those Washington assholes are out there acting like they’re sad you’re dead and,” he laughed again, “the goddamn casket’s empty!”

Maybe Tony’d finally, officially, lost it.

“Sorry,” Tony said again, trying to sober himself up, “sorry… I probably shouldn’t be laughing but this is all so insane, Steve. You’re here but you’re not here and all those morons actually think acting like you’re gone is the right thing to do and Sam’s there saying everything I should have said to you months ago. It really wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

Steve found himself laughing with Tony this time—finally seeing the morbid humor of their situation—and the two of them stood under the tree laughing for what felt like hours. Eventually they sobered up at the 21 gun salute marking the end of the service and watched as the hordes of people made their way out of the cemetery and faded into the distance.

“Come on,” Tony said gesturing toward the street, “we’ve got one more day before we really have to bury you and I don’t want to spend it laughing in the rain.”


End file.
